Ana en mi corazón

Friends, this is a difficult one for me. So much has happened over the last few days, but there is one thing laying unbearably heavy on my heart. A memory rushing to the surface.

Yesterday we spent some time in the Aksar refugee camp. Walking through the streets felt like home. It felt like Haines street, it felt like Mexico City, it felt like Santo Domingo. Everybody knows each other, everybody cares for each other, and everybody knows what it means to be displaced in one way or another. This felt warm and safe, which was ironic seeing as this is one of the places many people would be shocked to hear I visited. It's what they refer to when they say Lauren, stay safe.

Amjad gave us some background on the history of Aksar and all of the programs they have. "We are simple people" he said, "but there is not anyone hungry here. There is not anyone homeless." For everyone we passed by, he would say this man was in jail for five years, this one for ten. Towards the end of the tour he took us to the grave sites of seven people who were killed by rockets, bullets or in one case, sadness. He told the story of each one. How one was blown to pieces, his arm found atop a restaurant umbrella days later. A father who suffered from asthma and died shortly after his son was killed by a rocket. One of these was Amjad's best friend. Through all these stories I could think of only one thing. My great-grandmother, Ana. She was a fierce, loving, intense 98 year old who had seen so much joy and sorrow in her life it could fill a city. She was murdered in her own house in 2010 by a 15 and 17 year old in a standard robbery. I still remember getting that phone call from my dad, hanging up the phone, collapsing to the ground and sobbing uncontrollably. When I heard Amjad telling this story, I wanted to collapse again. I can't imagine this happening to my family seven times over. Or to my best friend, or my sister. Ana's death was dehabilitating for me for weeks after it happened, and it still makes me cry whenever I think of her. I only had the pleasure of meeting her a few times in my life.

How can people go on living their lives when this is happening? It is not only their land, their movement, their water that is being occupied, but their spirit. This community has banded together and allowed all the things that are trying to tear them apart actually bring them together. This gave me a sense of incredibly deep and profound hope and admiration.

Ana, you are not forgotten. Palestine, you are not forgotten.